The Mad Weyrleader
by Golden-Crowned Flying Fox
Summary: Fourth interval. The first long interval. Thread hasn't fallen for two hundred and fifty years. Tithes are something next to forgotten, dragonriders are regarded as arrogant fools and wherhandlers have on the other hand gained great respect and prestige throughout Pern. Ista Weyr wakes up to a scary realization. Not only is their new Weyrleader a blue rider, but also a lunatic.
1. The Mad Weyrleader

**Chapter 1 - The Mad Weyrleader**

"Wingleader! Wake up!" a boy's voice cried out somewhere near, too loud and too early.

Wingleader. What a disgraceful reminder of his failure. Even after an evening of wine, the memories of that incredible mating flight were crystal clear. Dinuth drinking up the small wherries, challengingly roaring at all five bronzes in the bowl. The queen then rising up and being followed by her five- no, six challengers! The gazes quickly flew from the winning bronze- _his_ Hirenth, to the giant outsider. How arrogant could a dragon like him be to even challenge a queen? Let alone spit in the bronzes' face while trailing behind them!

The giant Dinuth was safely from the reach of Hirenth and all others. Because of this, she seemed to have slowed down, letting them catch up. Just as Hirenth was about to catch her, she turned around in the air and flew right back, through the flock of bronzes, all attempting to usurp her and then getting out of her way as she threatened with a collision.

 _I did all I could. She refused me._ Hirenth whispered apologetically, sensing his rider's anger. It was true, he outflew the others even after Dinuth turned around. She did not want any of the bronzes, for she had already chosen her mate. Tirazith caught her with ease when she practically flew in his embrace.

They say that the queen chooses for the good of the Weyr. What good will come of a blue Weyrleader?

"Wake up, sir! The Weyrleader has called a meeting!" the boy persisted. L'cet grunted, opening his eyes and sitting up in bed. Of course he's called a meeting. L'cet hasn't remembered (granted, he was drunk most of the evening) T'rax celebrating his outrageous position as the first blue rider to be a Weyrleader in history. After he laid claim to Rulame, T'rax has gone directly to the records room where he's spent the rest of the day while the Weyr recovered from the mating flight's unthinkable outcome.

All bronze riders had drunken themselves to sleep in the great hall that night, although some found more comfort in the young weyrgirls rather than wine. Not L'cet though, he tried to find Rulame and speak with her, find out what prompted her queen to do this, but she seemed to be in much the same shock as all others were, and rushed off to her weyr right after T'rax had her.

"What time is it?" he asked the boy as he put on a white shirt. "Six hours in the morning, sir! Most of the Weyr is still asleep."

"So much I can imagine. Go, wake up the other _wingleaders_ , let's not keep the Weyrleader waiting."

"But… They are all already awake, sir!" the little boy's voice was full of anxiety. L'cet even deepened that feeling with his gaze. "Go on."

"The Weyrleader ordered me to wake you up the last." he answered quietly. Of course. T'rax wasn't someone to feel the beauty of a mating flight. One could bet he was heels on the ground the whole time, watching how Hirenth was always the closest to catching Dinuth. What better way of humiliating his biggest rival than to force him to come late? Well, he would show T'rax not to mess with a bronze rider.

"Alright. Go tell the Weyrleader I'm on my way." he told the boy as nicely as he could. But on his way to the meeting chamber, he would take a few stops. First one by the wardrobe, putting on his best looking clothes, not forgetting the badge of an Istan Wingleader, then by the mirror, where he forced himself to make his short, brown, messy hair look good. To his astonishment, L'cet looked like he's aged ten turns in the last two days. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and the shock, but he certainly didn't seem like the thirty turns he had.

 _You are a day older than you were yesterday, and so am I._ The bronze's sleepy voice wasn't calm the way L'cet wanted it to be.

 _It should have been you._

 _Yes, it should have been me._ Hirenth agreed. _I wanted it, but she hadn't. The queen chooses for the good of the Weyr. We are her servants, we abide to her wishes and orders. If Tirazith was who she chose out of all others, I am sure it was no mere mistake._

 _I bet the clutch will be small, too._ L'cet's disgust persisted.

 _Perhaps. Most likely. But maybe that is what Pern needs. We no longer fight thread, why should there be so many of us?_

Hirenth's rider grunted, walking past the bronze's lair with even worse of a mood than before. He decided to walk down to the dining hall to check how bad the Weyr looked. The masses of bodies piled up on the tables, sleeping, and the high table, messed up with wine and thrown up food, spoke for itself. "Get up! Get up you lot, clean this!" he clapped his hands and made his voice boom throughout the giant cavern. Just as he wanted it, the drunken bodies started to rise and growl in frustration.

L'cet guessed they'd manage by themselves after this, so he finally made his way back up the stairs and into the meeting room that was right beside the Weyrleader's and Weyrwoman's quarters. Absolute silence from those chambers told him that Rulame was either not present or still asleep. Having no plans on investigating further, so he made his way to the meeting room.

T'rax's rasp voice could be heard from far away, and it only worsened L'cet's headache the closer he got. From the looks of the other wingleaders upon his entrance, they seemed to be suffering the same. They stood around a map of Pern, and all four bronze riders looked terrible. Their clothes were dirty and stained by wine, their hair messy and eyes deep from tiredness. He hadn't regretted his choice of taking time. L'cet showed by this that he was not to be messed with, and that he wouldn't accept this unorthodox leadership until it would be proven that Dinuth hadn't made a mistake. But now, as he measured T'rax, and the Weyrleader's hateful eyes burned into his soul, L'cet started to doubt his decision. He hasn't spoken with the blue rider ever before, but from what he heard, T'rax was only known to be a quiet and introverted man, always looking like he's plotting something.

That definitely didn't sound like the man that was just now standing before him. This T'rax was loud, determined, and intolerant of rebellism. Though the Weyrleader was shorter than him, and had three turns less, there was something off about him that made L'cet shiver.

"I was worried that you got so drunk even Hirenth forgot to jump between when you died." T'rax finally growled. "Apologies, Weyrleader. We were all merely surprised at the turn of yesterday's events." L'cet tried to sound neutral. He waved his hand at the other wingleaders, who all kept their heads down in shame. "I advise you to keep your amazement under control, we don't need any dragons jumping between after an unfortunate heart attack, let alone bronzes." L'cet forced himself to surpress the anger building up within him. "You called us here in this morning hour why, Weyrleader?" a voice that tried to sound calm came out of his lips.

"Pitty you haven't come before. I already explained some of the plan to the others. Do you need me to repeat it for you?"  
"Oh, please, _Weyrleader_. Go on."

"Thread hasn't fallen for two hundred and fifty turns. The insolent holders think we no longer deserve their tithes. I think I don't have to remind you of any of that. After all, our supplies have grown dangerously thin. And, after yesterday, I believe our provisions of wine are officially depleted. Now, any of you have ideas how to fix that?" T'rax threw his arms in the air at the five wingleaders, expecting a response. The four, with a heavy hangover, remained silent and haven't even moved. L'cet decided he would have to be the voice of reason here.

"We could strike a deal with the Lord Holders. A mutual trade, perhaps." he said. T'rax's gaze pierced him looking stunned. "Tr.. Trade. Deal! Trade! You want to trade with those maggots! We are _dragonriders_! We deserve no less than their obedience all gifts for saving their petty lives!"

"We haven't saved any lives for over two hundred and fifty turns, you've said it yourself!" L'cet yelled out. "Do you want to turn them all against us completely?"

"What could they do? Their lesser kind should serve us! And they will!"

"Have you gone mad? How do you even plan on achieving that? Declaring a war on a Hold? You would break every law that a dragonrider is sworn to abide to! Never harm a human, keep Holds, Weyrs and Crafthalls separate! I will not let Pern fall into chaos because of a madman!" the bronze rider cried out. T'rax jumped up with a knife in his hand, shooting right to L'cet's neck. Outside, Hirenth roared in rage, just to be silenced by Dinuth from her weyr. The Weyrleader leaned up to L'cet, hate burning in his eyes. "I would rather not waste a life of the strongest _bronze_ dragon in this Weyr. We will need the capable ones in the times to come. Make sure you do not force me to end poor Hirenth. I think that would make up two things you would've never forgiven yourself."

L'cet slowly lowered his hands in defeat. This was wrong. Not only that a blue rider was a Weyrleader, but also that he was a lunatic. He finally took his dagger away and turned around, walking back to the front of the map table.

"Wake up the Weyr. Fire up the smiths, forge swords and spears. Start the drills. In a sevenday, we take Ista Hold."


	2. Ominous Warnings

**Chapter 2 - Ominous messages**

"If my father sees you like this, he will never approve of us two," a young woman laughed. "Well, good thing I'm not planning to greet him with you naked in my arms." Medric told her while eyeing himself in the mirror. His large brown mane was messy from yesterday's night, and he probably should've shaved back then too. Nevermind, he can do that this morning.

"Are you bringing Medrisk too?" Amada asked. He having already gone into the bathroom, he couldn't see her, but she probably already got up.

"To the hall? A gold wher beside the Lord Holder? Absolutely not. I may be a revered guest, but I don't think Lord Takodak would appreciate her there. She'll have plenty of food in the wherstables, and a lot of other holders will be calmer, too." Medric meanwhile fixed his hair and started shaving his short but unkept beard.

"When do you plan on telling him?" Amada sneaked up behind him, already dressed, and ran her long fingers on his bare back.

"When do _you_ plan on telling _your_ father about _us_? Also, good luck sneaking out of _my_ quarters in broad daylight."

"Why should I be sneaking? Isn't it considered an honor being a partner to a master wherhandler?" she whispered teasingly.

"Well, certainly bigger honor than sleeping with a dragonrider." Merdic spat out. Adama pulled out, walking away and leaning against the doorframe. Finished with his shaving, Merdic turned around and eyed her back. "What they did to your mother was a disgusting crime. Irredeemable. I would never do anything like that to you."

"Oh, I'm sure of it. But if they are allowed to do such things to us unchecked, I wonder, where will be the end of it? What will they do next?"

"Nothing. A dragon would never harm a human." he tried assuring her. She let out a nervous laugh. "It's not the dragons I'm worried about. It's the power they give to their riders I fear." she turned around, eyes glimming with tears.

Medric, much later, finally put on his shirt and then the jacket of wherry hide, with the Wherhandlers' badge sewn on the left breast and both shoulders. A black shield with two large, golden eyes of a wher.

The masterhandler made his way out of his guest quarters to the stables that were right ahead. His home was special, built some hundred turns ago when the Wherhandlers got much of their respect throughout Pern. Almost all major Holds now had guest quarters and stables specifically for a masterhandler or even the Whermaster, if he were to arrive, and his or her wher. Also, there were dozens of wherholds scattered, at least two in each Hold's territory. A wherhandler was a revered guest, the opposite of what a dragonrider was regarded as.

Most Weyrs demanded tithe the same as in a pass. Even with more than two and a half hundred turns without a single thread, they still thought of themselves as the saviours of Pern that had to be abided to. The more daring Weyrleaders, such as the late J'nuk of Ista, even ordered raids to those who wouldn't give them what they wanted, taking metal, cloths and even women and children as their 'tithe'.

Medrisk was already moving around in her large lair, disturbed by her handler's anger. He sent apologizing and then soothing feelings her way, coming over and rubbing her eye ridges and scratching her neck. He stayed for a little while, but soon several stableboys came in to replace him. Medric payed his respects to Medrisk and walked out, heading to the great hall. It would be quite the hike. The wherstables were located at the eastern gate to Keroon Hold, so neither wher nor the master would have to walk through the busy streets. It layed above the city that grew up in the interval, (if it could be called an interval anymore) but still below the main hold, that was carved inside a rock above all of it.

Medric, when taking all the steps and being let in by the guards who even bowed their heads to him, walked through one courtyard and then the second, upper courtyard, where the giant doors led directly to the hall. An older man was walking around impatiently before them. When he noticed Medric, as if he dropped all his worries.

"Oh, masterhandler Medric! Finally, everything is ready, we are waiting just for you!" he rushed on his small legs to him. Medric held up his hand, stopping him.

"I would never forgive myself dishonoring Lord Holder Takodak by making him wait any further. Shall we?" he smile and motioned to the great doors. The old man bowed. "Of course!" he waved at the guards who stood at the entrance. Medric came right into the middle of it, waiting for the men to open the giant doors. That servant disappeared all of a sudden, but he had no time of investigating where he's gone, because the doors opened and he was presented with the great hall of Keroon.

It truly was great, at least thirty men on each side rose from their tables, greeting him as he walked past them to the high table where the Lord Holder sat. The seat on his right side was occupied by his daughter Amada and the left one yet empty, with two edge seats taken by what Medric assumed to be Amada's uncle and the hold harper.

He came all the way to them and bowed his head to the large man with long black hair and short beard. They had seen each other yesterday already, but there was no time for a feast, so it was to take place today.

"Masterhandler Medric! What a pleasure to see you in my hall! Have you had a pleasant ride?" his booming voice echoed in the hall.

"Yes, I have! Keroon is as beautiful as always, the harvests had to be rich this turn!" Medric answered politely. He did come all the way from Dalor's Wherhold south of Red Butte here on foot. Although he could've just blinked between in a moment, he thought it more polite to announce his arrival few days prior and take the time to see Keroon's wide plains and fields for himself.

"Oh, the harvests were fruitful, that much is true! From what I've heard, you were busy too!"

"Certainly, two hatchings in two months, we had quite a lot of things to do," this was the reason he decided to see the plains. He's spent too much time organizing training of new handlers, their distribution at holds and many other things, having no time to do evening flights with Medrisk like they did before. "I would love to talk more about it during the feast." he continued.

"Of course! Come! Let the feast begin!"

"I really should come here more often." Medric laughed while being served another wherry leg. "I dare you! We haven't seen you for far too long. Tell me, have you found a wife yet?" Takodak said inbetween the moments when he was stuffing food in his mouth.

"Not yet, I'm looking for the _right_ one." Medric make sure Amada heard it. Her father look up from his plate, raising an eyebrow at him. "Truly?"

"Yes. Isn't that what the harpers say," he turned to the other side, eyeing Peotal, the hold's harper with whom he exchanged a few words already. " _The wait is worth it a thousand times if it brings new lives?_ " Medric desparately tried to cite the old saying, much to Peotal's amusement. "Yes, something like that, I'm sure." he chuckled.

"And have you found her yet?" Takodak inquired more.

"Well, I-" a flash of brown blinded him. Roar, teeth, blood, pain, fire. Wrath and power and death all falling from the sky, burying into the ground, eating whatever they find and destroying the rest, leaving motherless babies, skeletons, broken bodies, burnt down houses and dead fields and forests behind. All of it was to come, _very_ soon.

" _Medric_! Are you alright?" the Lord Holder's cry brought him back from the terrible image. The dozens of men and women at the lower tables were all looking at him, pointing and whispering things among themselves. "What happened to you?" Peotal asked.

"I think it was Medrisk. She wanted to tell me something." he tried to explain. Roar outside alerted everyone in the hall. Takodak twitched, turning his eyes to the great doors. The mighty scream was not that of a man, and many old enough in this hall knew what it meant. A dragonrider has arrived.

More cries outside, this time those of men, then one more roar by the dragon, and the huge doors blew open, revealing the rider. All in the hall were right at their feet in an instant, yelling insults at him. The Lord Holder was among them. "How _dare_ you walk in these halls unannounced! How dare you come here at all! Get out of my Hold!"

Despite Takodak's anger, the rider kept on marching to the high table. Medric could finally recognize his jacket to be bearing the shield of a black volcano on orange. Ista. And judging from the markers on his shoulders, this was a brown rider.

Takodak waved his hand and four guards came rushing to seize the intruder. "I bring message from the new Weyrleader!" the rider screamed in his defense, still walking forward. It surprisingly worked, the Lord Holder had him tell what the rider had to say.

"Dinuth has risen! Weyrleader T'rax, rider of blue Tirazith-"

"Blue!" some men cried at the tables. "Your Dinuth must be pretty weak to have a _blue_ catch her!" others followed. Despite this, the rider continued with a risen voice.

"-has sent out a message to all holds beholden to Ista Weyr!" he rolled up a scroll and started reading, insults still showering his back.

"All holds that, by the latest conclave of Weyrleaders, Lord Holders and Craftmasters of the tenth turn of the fourth interval-" _That's more than two hundred years ago._ Medric thought.

"are listed to be beholden to Ista Weyr, are thus ordered to gather their tithe, including: harvests, products such as cloth and leather, raw material- and three young boys and one girl as candidates for the upcoming clutch." his last words were almost not audible because of the uproar by all those present in the hall. From all sides, disgusting insults were thrown at him. The rider meanwhile started rolling up his scroll, but before he could finish it, a piece of meat landed flat on his face, splashing juice all over him. A dagger appeared in his hand out of the blue. "You _dare_ attack a dragonrider!" he cried in the direction of the thrower.

"You DARE draw blade in my hall!" Lord Takodak silenced everyone except that rider. "I do!" he barked back. "The Weyr has long enough tolerated the disobedience of the Holds! Those that do not wish to live in our world may burn in their old one!" he roared. Silence spread out like bad air in the hall at first, then it combusted into a frenzy of rageful insults. The four guards Takodak previously stopped were right at the rider, surrounding him with spears. "You never kill a messanger!" he screamed at the Lord Holder in fury.

"A messanger also never threatens his host!"

"Try to hurt me and my Morenth will burn you all alive!"

"A dragon never hurts a man!" many objected.

"We shall see!" the rider answered and bolted down, then back, getting out of the circle of guards and then ran right to the exit while being showered with food and cutlery. His persecutors were too slow to get him. The brown Morenth blew the giant doors out with his head and let the rider jump on his neck. And right as they were there, they disappeared, blinking between without even getting off the ground.

Cold air swept through their defeated opponent's hall. They were all quiet, not guessing what to say. Even the Lord Holder stared at the spot where they vanished.

"So this is how it begins." Medric whispered, finally guessing what Medrisk's images said.


	3. Day of Righteousness

**3 - Day of righteousness**

T'rax, the first blue Weyrleader in Pernese history, stood at the large table in the records room. It displayed the map of Pern, from Tillek's Desert Island to Nerat Ankle. Three hundred years ago, the Weyrleaders used these to predict the Fall patterns and protect the Holds. Now, T'rax, donning something that should've been called armor rather than a leather jacket, wanted to use them to do the exact opposite, conquer the holds under his fist of iron and fire.

Aside from him, the room was filled with the five wingleaders, eight brown riders and two blue ones.

"Nerat has refused?" T'rax raised his eyes from the hold on the map to the brown rider, standing in attention.

"Yes, Weyrleader! Lord Holder Zatam himself said that 'No matter the arrogance of the rider, a dragon never hurts a human. Go back to your cave, you insolent fool!'" he answered, imitating the holder's voice. T'rax turned his eyes to a rider right of the first one.

"T'tak, Keroon has refused too, I presume?"

"Not only that, Weyrleader!" the rider threw up his arms. "They insulted me! Threw their food at me, food that should belong to us! The Lord Holder almost had me killed!"

"And you ran away like a coward!" T'rax roared, slamming his hand on the table. T'tak immediately shut up, looking at his Weyrleader, confused.

"If we intend to rule this world," the blue rider looked around the assembled dragonriders. "We mustn't show weakness! If a holder or a crafter insults you, kill him! If they threaten to imprison you or kill you, burn them all with your dragons! We are free! We are dragonriders! We will never be suppressed or insulted ever again!" he threw his fist up. A few cries of agreement sounded from the brown riders and one blue.

"Pern is rightfully ours. All treasures and all inhabitants are supposed to be serving us. If they refuse to do that, we will make them our slaves! Conquer them with iron and fire!" This time, no victorious cries answered, just silent confusion and nervousness. T'rax measured the gathered with his gaze for some time, then turned to the third brown rider.

"Ista?"  
"Refused, Weyrleader."

"Good. All the way I wanted. The Weyrs?" he turned to another of the brown riders. "High Reaches have agreed! They will be joining us in our conquest. They've already sent their own ultimatums to their Holds."

"Good, Fort?"

"Refused, Weyrleader. H'lon didn't want to anger the Lord Holders and sent me away immediately."

"Bah, coward!" T'rax exclaimed.

"Telgar also refused, Weyrleader. They've decided to trade with Telgar Hold for supplies. Their dragons are working in the fields as laborers!" half the room gasped at this claim. T'rax's face reddened. This was exactly what he wanted to avoid with his riders. Becoming beggars and petty workers, instead of being the great warriors on Pern. "Igen?" he tried to suppress his anger by moving the conversation forward.

"Igen is dead, Weyrleader."

"Dead?" T'rax raised his eyes, almost breathless.

"Yes. Upon my arrival, no watch dragon greeted me. I explored the main caverns. I found piles of rotting bodies. Men, women, children, all starved to death. There were even a few dragon corpses, lying in their own weyrs, their ribs and spines showing beneath their hide, as if they hadn't eaten anything for months. There wasn't a single body alive in the Weyr. I went on to look through the surrounding lands. I found several dragon skeletons laying around in the fields, killed by what appeared to be sticks and spears. They were probably trying to take sheep and other cattle from the holders, as the Weyr was decimated by starvation. The holders obviously decided not to give anything to the dying folk and even killed the last of them."

The room fell silent. If a whole _Weyr_ could just starve out thanks to the holders' arrogance and inability to help, let alone slaughter the mightiest creatures of Pern when they tried to survive, what would become of the other Weyrs in the next few dozen turns? In a hundred turns? Would there even be dragonriders? No, T'rax would never allow this horrific thing to happen. He will never allow a genocide like that happen ever again, if he has to burn a thousand holders to save one dragon life, he will do it. But why hasn't Igen sent a message to Ista? Z'jin, the late Weyrleader knew J'nuk, last Weyrleader of Ista well. They weren't friends, but did keep diplomatic ties up. Z'jin was diplomatic all around, why hasn't he contacted at least the other Weyrs? Or has he? That thought angered T'rax more than it should've.

"Benden?" the Weyrleader finally broke the silence with his suspicions.

"K'den couldn't believe me when I told him you have become the Weyrleader. He said that Dinuth is a disgrace to the dragon kind-" Tirazith roared in his Weyr in defiance of this, so did Dinuth. "and that a blue rider is not fit to lead. He also-"

"I got the picture. Very well, I will show him what a Weyrleader is supposed to do. Is armor and weapons for the riders and dragons ready?" his gaze shifted to one of the blue riders. It was the Weyr's chief blacksmith.

"No, Weyrleader. We have barely made ten sets of leather armor for the riders and just approved a design for the dragon one. A week is not enough time to equip the whole Weyr for war," the rider was old, but strong, with rough voice that commanded respect and took nothing for granted. T'rax found him the most annoying.

"It will be much quicker with the grand smithhall in Ista Hold. We need less than ten dragons to take over the Hold. We will blink in three dragonlengths above the Hold's towers, firestone ready. Browns will fly down to the towers and take them over. Kill all resistance. One bronze will take down those at the main gate. Me, Tirazith and three bronzes will fly down to the keep and take the Lord Holder as prisoner. P'rik!" one of the brown riders, the errand from Ista Hold, looked up.

"Yes, Weyrleader?"  
"You will be assigned as the new ruler of Ista Hold. You will govern it, but answer to the Weyr and send all goods over to it. Understood?" P'rik hesitated- Stuttering, he let out: "Of course, Weyrleader!"

"Good. The city below the hold and the port will be in too much chaos to offer any resistance. Green and blue riders are free to take any young girls, boys, men and women they find and bring them to the Weyr. Every rider can now have up to three holder wives and husbands. They will be treated as slaves and if the rider stops finding them useful, they will be sent to the fields or the mines. Understood?"

The riders looked at each other, unsure of what to think. Only a few said yes.  
"After our conquest of Ista, we take Igen. They say that it is an inhospitable desert. Let's make sure it is that way when we are done with the Holders. They will pay for murdering our fellow dragonriders! All holders in Igen's proper will be enslaved and sent to the mines to make iron for our weapons. Others will be required to hunt wherries and their hide will be used for our armor. Maybe we will even make some wher-hide jackets too." he chuckled, only to receive horrified looks. T'rax knew this was a miss-step and fell silent for a few moments. An idea sprouted in his head. "I will send Dinuth along with an escort of three bronzes, four browns and twenty blues and greens to Igen Weyr to repopulate it. R'wan," he looked at the brown that went to Igen as a messenger.

"You will take an escort of thirty dragons, secure the Weyr, clear it out and give the riders and dragons there a proper burial. Take some weyrfolk along with you. Also, you're free to raid the surrounding villages for laborers."

"Yes, Weyrleader!" R'wan saluted. T'rax saw the stares and knew what they were for. Why give all the important tasks to blues and browns? Simple, the bronze riders were incapable idiots. At least that's the way he saw it. He had no idea how buffoons like them could've ever impressed at all, let alone bronze dragons. Oh, right, three of the five were holder-bred, that explained it. These 'wingleaders' were too weak-minded to stand up for his iron will. Well, except for L'cet. He was the only one fit for his rank and his dragon. T'rax knew that he would have to be careful around him and show that he is a Weyrleader not to be messed with.

There was one danger to the plan of having Dinuth clutch at Igen. If T'rax was somewhere off when she would rise again, L'cet could easily swoop in and become a leader of two Weyrs at once. T'rax knew good enough to leave L'cet out of the Ista assault, as he could mess it up. The other conquests though, when the Lord Holders would already have an army assembled, that would be different.

He did make his policy to kill a thousand holders to save one dragons life, but to sacrifice one dragon's life to save thousands of other riders and their dragons from servitude, death and slavery was something he deemed acceptable.

"Now, let's move onto the Weyrs. Once High Reaches crushes their holders, we must hold a conclave. Igen is a good neutral ground for this, and R'wan should be already done with the clean-up by then," but the brown rider wasn't looking so sure. A few days isn't enough to clean up the whole Weyr. But, with a few hundred enslaved holders, he should be able to do it in time, that much T'rax judged.

"Benden will be of obvious resistance. We have to get them out of the way if we want to rule this world. I've heard their queen is to rise soon. One bronze will blink in right at the start and fly her. We will gain three hundred dragons to our cause and get K'den out of the way. H'jit," the Weyrleader looked at the only weyr-bred bronze rider beside L'cet. "That will be your task. Do not fail." H'jit, visibly shaken, nodded nervously.

"Both Telgar and Fort could offer resistance too. Telgar to strike a _deal_ and Fort not to _anger_ the Lord Holders. Time is in our favor now, Telgar has eggs on the hatching grounds and will start a Search soon. Send our weyrfolk undercover to each of the Telgari holds. A blue will never favor a holder over a proper weyr-bred candidate. These folk will make their task gather enough information about Telgar's wingleaders, their Weyrleader and the overall situation in the Weyr. We will use all of that to our advantage. The wingleaders could undermine Weyrleader S'nar's authority and support the weyrfolk's superiority, if not, our people make them.

Telgar has been a disgrace to our kind for far too long. We will not let anyone suffer slavery under the Holders. None shall insult us anymore!" he held up his hand high, shouting victoriously. "For the Weyr, for Pern!"

"For the Weyr! For Pern!" chants echoed throughout the room, just to be outroared by the dragons outside. Only a few stayed silent. T'rax saw the blacksmith and L'cet among them.


	4. The Wrong Weyrwoman

**4 - The Wrong Weyrwoman**

Rulame's feeble body laid collapsed on the table in her quarters. Judging from her fingers moving around the emptied wine glass though, she wasn't asleep. The Weyrwoman had gotten up late that day and all she's done was ordering wine from the private reserves of the Weyrleaders in the lower caverns. Since then, she's refused to do anything other than drink and drown in the thoughts of madness that had gripped her new Weyrleader and her own dragon.

 _I'm not mad. I did what is good for the Weyr._ Dinuth told her for a hundredth time.

 _How is someone like T'rax good for the Weyr?_ she asked, for a hundredth time, too. T'rax, the first blue Weyrleader in history hasn't shown up since the mating flight two days ago. Young Rulame had found him to be harsh, cruel and lunatic. When he claimed her, he was hard, quick and wasted no time. Maybe it's good that I drink so much, I don't want a child to see the chaos he will bring, she thought.

 _Weyrs need respect. They lack it. Dragons are mighty and beautiful, holders fail to see it. I have to change that. We have to change that._ Dinuth persisted.

 _You never should've impressed me. I'm not a good Weyrwoman._

 _Don't say that, I love you! Tirazith loves you too! And he loves me!_ The queen tried to comfort her rider.

 _He's a blue._ Rulame snorted in her thoughts. Tirazith was so slow Dinuth had to outfly all the bronzes and then race back into his embrace and mate with him.

 _He's strong. There's something about him that no bronze has. He's brave, really brave. I'm telling you, he will bring us to where we should- where we have to be._

 _Ashes. That is what Pern will become if you let T'rax and Tirazith do what they want. Thread might have not returned, but what if the dragons have been destined to replace it? To plague this world and burn it's people, leaving innocents scarred, children motherless, women used as slaves in the beds of riders, men sent to mines to dig gold and gems for the Weyrs. That's not what I want Pern to become._

 _That's nothing what Pern will be like! Never! We would never allow that!_ The queen sounded almost ashamed her rider thought they would let such a thing happen.

 _Say what you want. I don't like how this will end._

"Weyrwoman!" Rulame heard and felt strong hands shaking her. She jumped up, but her feet knew no balance and lost ground seemed as alien as tithe from the holds. She fell over, half-hoping to knock herself out and get a good sleep, but those arms showed up again and prevented it. So, I will suffer and have to explain why, great, she thought. Why did that man yell so loud, though? Even Dinuth knew better than to scream at her when she tried to drown in endless anxiety.

"What's wrong with you? You don't have to yell at me right from the start!" she yelled at the large figure that made her jump.

"I was trying to wake you for three minutes!" the man complained. After recovering from the sudden lift of her head, squinting and taking a rather long time realizing his identity, Rulame found him to be one of the wingleaders, L'cet. His hard, square face stared her down with troubled eyes. He's so old, she thought to herself. He was only twice her age, but he looked thrice that number. It made her uncomfortable, so she started twisting around, forcing him to let go of her. Luckily, her chair was nearby so Rulame could quickly collapse into it and not on the hard ground of her weyr. After taking a few deep breaths, she asked lethargically: "What do you want, wingleader?"

"To see if you are alright." L'cet answered, measuring her up and down. A feeling of being undressed made her cover herself nervously with one hand while taking the wine glass with the other to numb the pain from the mating flight that had come back with this stare. Only when nothing came pouring into her mouth did she realized that she had steadily emptied her reserves of fine drinks. Irritated, she placed it back on the table with a loud thud.

"Alright! Yes, I'm good. My 'mate' is off in Ista, slaughtering holders and taking the rest as slaves, but I'm good. Not enough wine, though. Be chivalrous and fetch me some." she waved him off. Instead of going away like she desperately wanted him to, he kneeled before her and reached out for her hand, grabbing it easily. She was too weak to resist him.

Why does he have to touch me? She thought, shivering. The last thing she wanted was a bronze rider gripping her.

"T'rax had sent thirty dragons, lead by the brown R'wan to Igen Weyr." he told her like it was a big deal.

"So? He wants to make allies there, what do I have to do with it?" she shrugged, trying to keep the conversation as short as possible.

"Igen is gone." he sounded so serious. Rulame found it hard to focus on his words, and took her time answering. Surely it was nothing to be concerned about. "Gone? Where to?" But through her tired voice, a feeling of unease growing deep inside her.."They're still there," L'cet said. Good, she sighed. The feeling was gone.

"Their corpses are. Igen has starved out because of the holders." And here it was again. The terrible sense of dread overtook her. Dinuth roared in her weyr, disgusted. Rulame found it hard to breathe, the arrogance and cruelty of the holders' was pressing against her chest. Now she finally saw why Dinuth chose Tirazith.

"R'wan is supposed to clear it out. For you. T'rax is going to send you to Igen where Dinuth will clutch. That way, T'rax will have two Weyrs under his direct control and will demand tithe from Igen Hold and the minor holds in southern Bended and Telgar." L'cet continued relentlessly. Why was he telling her all this? Was he planning to foil the Weyrleader's plans somehow? At least this part of his plan didn't involve her suffering. She wouldn't see all the terror he would inflict, the slaves that would work the mines for firestone and gems.

"Rulame!" he made her snap out of the somewhat pleasant and selfish thoughts.

"What do you want from me?" she cried out, annoyed and confused. "Tell me!"

"I want you to end T'rax's rule." he whispered. Somewhere behind him, Dinuth growled uncomfortably.

 _Shut up, let him talk._ Rulame barked at her dragon, gasping when she caught herself speaking like this to her. She knew she would regret damaging the only nice relationship she still had left. The bronze rider noticed it and hopelessly tried to shift the Weyrwoman's attention back to the future coming for her.

"T'rax will never let me go with you. He will be very careful of Dinuth rising to mate again so he doesn't lose two Weyrs at once," he explained. You have to sway the three bronzes coming with you to your side. Their authority is being undermined by T'rax, they shouldn't be hard to convince. Send them to Benden, they will have a mating flight soon. T'rax is going to send H'jit there to fly their queen. He's weak-minded but loyal to T'rax. You have to get your own bronzes there and have them fly the senior Benden queen. We will have two Weyrs and T'rax only one, excluding High Reaches.

"He's decided to send out spies and decoys to Telgar holds. They'll be having a Search soon, and it's likely the blues will snatch most of our weyrfolk there. He plans on impressing all of them in Telgar, those that fail will make their job undermining S'nar's authority through manipulation of the wingleaders. Most of them are young and we have many pretty girls here. I will persuade as many of those spies and candidates as I can to warn S'nar. Hopefully they will realize the danger before it's too late.

"I hate T'rax, but I have to admit he is a good schemer. He didn't even include me in the attack at Ista, neither has he sent me to Igen. He wants me here because he thinks I'm the biggest threat. He's right about that, and I will do everything I can to undermine his authority." L'cet whispered most of it. Rulame knew why, her queen was just a room away, and wouldn't be pleased to hear L'cet wanting to get rid of her mate.

Even through that, Rulame knew her queen heard at least some of the words. "What then, though? Will you fight dragon with dragon? Cause so much suffering and break bonds that are supposed to last entire lives?" Rulame asked, maybe a bit too loudly. L'cet looked grim, but did offer her an answer. "I don't want it to come to that, and I know you don't either. My hope is that when T'rax sees that we have the numbers advantage of three Weyrs to two, with Fort maybe joining us, he will back down. But I know better than to rely on hopes, and T'rax is way too crazed by his crusade against the holders to see the consequences of his actions." the bronze rider then leaned in, too close for Rulame's liking, whispering: "If all fails, I will be prepared to kill T'rax for the sake of Pern."


	5. The Siege

**5 - The Siege**

Marok sluggishly climbed the battlements of Ista Hold, taking a spear from the small armory and walking up to his old friend. "How're you?" he asked him. "Oh, awesome as always. My wife just told me to get a real job or get lost." Urotok exclaimed, a sarcastic smile on his lips.  
"She doesn't think guarding is a real job?" Marok smiled. His accent was distinct from Urotok's, his Nerati heritage seeping through every word.  
"She doesn't think it's a well paid job." Urotok frowned. He was leaning over the battlements lazily, gazing right into the dawn, desperately trying to draw some energy from it. And failing.

"Well, of course! We're getting the well deserved payment for doing nothing the whole day." Marok laughed, patting the other guard on the back. He came over and gazed into the wide open fields in front of them. To the far right, he could almost see the docks. To his left and all in the front were nothing but farms and fields. Already, workers set out to their daily routines.

"I'd rather be sitting here than plowing those fields. We're lucky to have this job." Urotok grunted, displeased at how unfair life has been to him. Marok sighed, glaring into the sun as well. It was unusually bright this morning. It flickered more than usual, too. Hm, no, it wasn't the sun that flickered. Something large was walking down the road towards the hold. All around, the farmers were rising from their plots, gazing at it as if it were something never-before seen. Marok grabbed his friend's sleeve and pointed at that thing. "What's that, a watch-wher?" he squinted. But no, this was too large to be a watch-wher, Marok was lucky enough to know that. "No, it's a dragon." Marok growled. He never saw a bronze or a gold before, just a brown, though still much bigger than any watch-wher he's ever seen. That brown flew over the whole hold and landed right at the main hall, but left as quickly as he came. When that happened, Marok wondered what that foolish rider meant to achieve. Murder their Lord Holder? Pathetic attempt at that. Dragons haven't appeared in Ista Hold for a long time, this was the first many adults have seen one.

The bronze dragon slowly neared the hold. It's size turned out to be overwhelming. The head was the same height as the battlements, though he had it bolted upright like a human. The farmers around the beast were spitting in it's general direction, spewing insults. Neither the dragon nor his rider seemed to mind though. The guards on the other hand scrambled up and equipped themselves with all weapons, spears, daggers, shields, forming a line at the top of the battlements. They also closed the gate which until now remained open.

"What do you want, _dragonrider_?" the commander shouted, stressing the title as if it were an insult. The dragonrider took some time to answer, and his voice was full of pretended confidence and pride. "You will surrender your arms, leave the Hold and swear fealty to the dragonriders of Ista Weyr!" Was this the new Weyrleader? If so, he was a pretty poor one. Even his beast commanded little respect, as both farmers and guards answered his demands with laughter. An expression of appal and defeat spread across the rider's face, but he kept shouting some scripted demand. "Your Lord Holder will abdicate and you will work as laborers in the firestone mines and on the fields. Those pretty enough will become the misters and mistresses of dragonriders!" now, the laughter has gone out, replaced with furious shouts and more insults.

"We refuse!" the commander yelled back, his voice strong with confidence. Marok wasn't so sure. He hasn't heard of any firestone mines working for the Weyr, but even a dragon that breathed no fire was dangerous.

"Then," the bronze rider declared, trying his best to outshout the farmers and failing. His dragon had to roar so loudly it could be heard it all the way by the docks to silence them. "By the power given to him by the mating flight, T'rax, Weyrleader of Ista Weyr, declares war upon your hold!"

In a blink of an eye, the sun darkened, cold bit deep into the guards and strong winds swept away their arms. The sky was full of dragons. Blues were landing on the watchtowers everywhere, greens flew over the city and headed to the docks, roaring so loudly the stone beneath Marok's feet started vibrating. The bells sounding alarm were useless.

Once the shock has worn off, Marok scrambled to his feet and off the battlements, down into the city. He could hear the commander ordering the archers to shoot the blue dragons, but before any arrows could be launched, dreadful cries echoed from the walls as the holders were crushed, devoured, burnt alive, whatever deadly weapon the dragons used. Marok didn't want to know, he wanted to get away, he wanted to live.

Just before he could get out of the main garrison and into the streets, a roar of victory echoed from the battlements. He didn't want to turn around, but his muscles didn't listen. He had to see it. The walls he just escaped were painted in blood, blue and green dragons proudly sitting atop the corpses of his friends. And now, once more, the sun darkened. It gave him the much needed excuse to look away from the slaughter.

High above the hold, a large wing of dragons approached. A blue was in the lead, it was almost as large as the other browns that were accompanying it. The wing flew over the hold in a safe height and then descended at the main courtyard, already in the grasp of other blues and greens. Now they were out of sight, but at least Marok could pursue his goal of finding a dark corner to hide in and survive this battle. No, it wasn't a battle, there was no way the holders could resist the dragons. It was a simple slaughter.

The streets were full of startled and horrified people, running around headlessly. Some idiot ran into him and punched him in the face for no reason. Marok cried, scrambling off the main street and eventually finding some open cellar. He huddled in a corner, crying. Why did the dragons choose to attack right now, during his lifetime? What would they do to them all? Who was this mad T'rax? Dragons would never harm a human, the legends always told them! Yet now the hold ran crimson with the blood of it's people. How would the other holds react to this crime? The other Weyrs? Surely there were some who would fight this lunacy. But not him… No, Marok would stay here, hidden and hoping to wait out this storm.


End file.
